


Eternity Lends a Scar

by cristianoronaldo



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cristianoronaldo/pseuds/cristianoronaldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cristiano is a demon. Kaka is (literally) a lost soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eternity Lends a Scar

**Author's Note:**

> "I have this dumb fucking idea"   
> \- me about this fic

Hell was boring. There was fire everywhere, and while the heat was nice for Cristiano’s tan, it was horrible for his skin in other ways. It made him itchy, and sometimes he even (Lucifer forbid), broke out. The fire pools (pools of fire and lava, fucking obviously) made him feel a little better, so most of the time he just relaxed in one of those until Iker gave him a job. 

 

He put on his sunglasses, relaxed against the back of the pool, and let the fire eat at his flesh. It was calming. Now that he was a demon, he didn’t really have to worry about getting burned alive or any of that shit. His skin just regrew. And besides, his eyes flashed red sometimes. Like, why the fuck would you _not_ want to be a demon? 

 

He liked it in hell even if it did have its slow days. Ever since Iker took over for Lucifer (Satan bless his soul, The Big Man welcomed him back upstairs after he started forgetting his name and mumbling about fucking some angel named Bob), things were better. Iker was the nicest demon Cristiano had ever met. Sometimes he let family members up to heaven during visiting hours and Lucifer never did that, even in his senile, nicer days. 

 

Cristiano was just settling into the pool with a great big smile on his face when there was a huge crash from beside him. Something landed in the fire pool near him, splashing him with molten lava, and oh my satan, wow, that was so fucking rude. 

 

He stood up, eyes flashing red, and roared, “What the fuck is your problem? You’re supposed to wreak havoc on earth not in hell, you imbecile. What fucking cemetery did they bury you in because I swear we have contracts with 90% of them and I will take it up with your supervisor.” 

 

There was a small noise, like resistance, and then a tall figure rose from the fire pool next to him. His hair was shaggy, wavy, dark. His eyes were dark, warm brown, and when they turned to Cristiano, his blackened demon heart unfroze just a little. The figure stood up, and he shone like a new soul, freshly brought to hell, but he didn’t have that _look_ in his eyes. They normally looked like they knew where they were going. 

 

(well, they should, because if they didn’t, Peter wasn’t doing his job. Everyone know St. Peter was at the pearly gates, tossing that key back and forth, admitting the holy souls and loading up the crappy, ugly bus to hell with the others. He told them exactly where they were going, and when they landed face-first in hell, they had one of two looks: that hardened steel pride or the scared-out-of-their-fucking-mind jitters.) 

 

But this guy. He just looked confused. He spun around a few times, wiping his brow, and he was even sweating like the heat was getting to him. The heat didn’t get to bad souls. Bad souls liked the heat. 

 

“Helloooo?” Cristiano called, rather rudely. “Did you not hear me? What cemetery did you come from? Because you flopping in the middle of a fire pool is against Article 7 and it calls for a grave desecration as punishment. Nice job, Nameless Heathen. Now I have to cart you back to earth to desecrate your own grave.” 

 

The other man was still silent. He whipped around, looking close to tears. His lip was trembling. 

 

Cristiano ignored him. He continued to talk to the nameless freshly-made demon, “Or, I guess since you’re so new, I’ll overlook the fire pool canon ball from outer space. I won’t report it, but if someone does catch wind of this and tells Iker, don’t think I’m going to cover for you.” 

 

The other man’s eyes were wet. 

 

“Alright, fuck, don’t cry. I’ll cover for you.” Cristiano rolled his eyes, and returned to his drink. He quite liked his new friend. He liked people who didn’t interrupt his “me” time. “Fucking newbies,” he muttered under his breath. “You weren’t here in the Days of Lucifer. You don’t understand what hell really feels like.” 

 

A tear streaked down the other man’s cheek. “I’m not supposed to be here,” he finally sobbed. “This isn’t the Heaven Bible Camp. I swear, I _just_ died and I signed up for the Heaven Immersion Camp and I think they stuck me on the wrong bus.” 

 

Cristiano looked up briefly, cackling. “Shit, man. You’re fucked. Only way we’re allowed up to the Pearly Gates is Visiting Hours for you sickly lot up there.” 

 

“Sickly?” questioned Heaven’s Still-Nameless Child. He sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve. 

 

“Yeah, goodness is a disease.” Cristiano rolled his eyes again. “You should know that. We learn that on the first day here.” 

 

“I’m supposed to be at Immersion Camp,” he sobbed, ignoring Cristiano. “I’m in Hell, and I got on the wrong bus. Isn’t there a way to take me back? Could you take me up during Visiting Hours?” 

 

Cristiano snorted. “Fuck no. First of all, I don’t do good things for other people. I only do good things for myself.” He snapped his fingers and another drink appeared. The pool was getting a little too cold for his taste, so he snapped his fingers again and a giant ball of fire appeared under his toes. “Secondly, visiting hours are very strict. Family members only, sometimes close friends, but those have to be approved by whoever your prince is. I don’t know, I forget his name--” 

 

“Jesus,” the stranger replied, astonished. 

 

“Right, him, okay. Anyway, he has to approve those, and it’s a whole hassle for us because it’s a ton of paperwork. We basically have to sign off and say a demon isn’t going to fuck shit up in heaven.” He laughed, flashing his sharp demon teeth. “A demon in heaven?” He threw back his head and cackled again. “Of course we’re going to fuck shit up. If you ask me, visiting hours is a nice touch by Iker, but ridiculous on Heaven’s part.” 

 

The stranger sniffled again, but this time he squatted near the pool, stuck out his shaky hand and said, “Thanks for the explanation and stuff. I’m Ricardo.” 

 

“Cristiano,” the other man answered lazily, not offering up his hand. “Put your fucking hand away. Good manners are frowned upon.” 

 

“Oh. Right.” Ricardo stuffed his hand back in his pocket sheepishly, stepping back for a moment, but when he spoke again, his voice was once more urgent, “But...I-- Isn’t there another way? Somehow? Please,” he begged. “I’m not meant to be down here. I can’t survive in hell.” 

 

“Not in that outfit you won’t,” Cristiano scoffed. “Honestly, colored pants are best if you want to get by. I can take you to Sergio. He makes nice colored pants. They burn off real good in the fire.” 

 

Ricardo’s eyes bugged out of his face. At first Cristiano thought it was some sort of inter-hell demon possession, but then he just realized Ricardo was frustrated. “No. Excuse me for being rude--” This earned him another sharp laugh. “--But, really, I don’t intend to stay in Hell long enough to buy a pair of colored pants. I prefer these ones.” 

 

“Those ones are fucking stupid.” 

 

“They’re pants. They can’t be stupid.” 

 

“Stuuupiiddd. As right hand to the newly-promoted Devil, I proclaim those pants stupid. Begone, Misplaced Soul. Find your place in Hell and forget all about Heaven because there isn’t a way back.” Cristiano smiled as he said this because he really did like his new friend. Tough love though. Tough love was the only way to go. 

 

And then something happened. Ricardo got to his knees in front of Cristiano’s fire pool, and put his face in his hands. “Please,” he begged, rubbing at his eyes like he was trying hard not to cry again. “Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll-- Isn’t there a message you want to get to someone in Heaven? Maybe I could tell them for you?” 

 

Cristiano hesitated, but Ricardo caught it. “Shut up,” he snapped. “I’m a high-ranking demon. There’s no way I would associate with anyone in Heaven, first of all. And secondly, fuck you. Also, thirdly, I wouldn’t pass any of the paperwork required. Your little Prince Jesus barred me from Heaven years ago.” 

 

Ricardo looked down at his hands. His hair fell in his face again, but this time he didn’t move to brush it away. His voice was quiet and muddled as he said, “Please. I can help you. I can get a message to whomever you want, quickly and quietly, and then you can return to your glory days as a terrible demon, and I can go up to Heaven, where I belong.” 

 

Cristiano sighed. “Don’t try and win me over. I don’t have a heart. Doesn’t work.” 

 

“Please. How would you feel if you were placed in Heaven instead of Hell?” Ricky was staring at Cristiano, and Cristiano was staring pointedly down at his drink. The umbrella was a perfect replica of a tiny fanned out flame. 

 

“Fine,” Cristiano finally snapped, throwing his drink away. The fire quickly ate it up. “God fucking damn it.” The sky rumbled as God acknowledged his name being used in vain. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Cristiano yelled at the sky. “You bastards always keep tabs on me. I don’t fucking care if you keep tabs on me. I’m already barred from heaven. You can’t bar me twice!” 

 

A number 2 appeared in the sky as a swirling white cloud. 

 

“Fuck you,” Cristiano yelled back. “You can’t have me on your shitlist _twice_ , God. It doesn’t make sense. You know what, ever since you became two people in one divine person, you became double the asshole in one divine douche. Congratulations.” 

 

“Three,” Ricardo corrected, his hands folded in prayer. “He’s three divine persons. You forgot the Holy Spirit. I’ve heard he’s quite pleasant actually.” 

 

“ _She_ ,” Cristiano snapped. “And I didn’t forget her. I just choose not to talk about royal cunts.” 

 

Ricardo gasped. “Oh my gosh. You cannot call the Holy Spirit a royal--” He cut off. The sky rumbled its approval for Ricky. His eyes brightened, and he seemed to finally understand that this was his direct communication with the King of Heaven itself. “Uhm, God?” The sky rumbled again. “If you’re listening, I’m stuck in hell right now. Please help?” 

 

The sky rumbled once more, and a giant finger appeared in the clouds, pointing directly at Cristiano. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “God doesn’t have jurisdiction here. He can’t whisk you away. A few years after Lucifer took charge, God still had jurisdiction and he used to steal souls all the time. So fucking annoying. Once you’re down here, you’re ours.” He smirked. 

 

The sky made it’s dumb sound again. Ricky made a pleading sound. “Please, Cristiano. I’ll get that message to whomever you want. I’ll-I’ll do anything. I’ll even get a personal message to Jesus if you want. Maybe they’ll bar you a third time?” 

 

Cristiano smiled slowly. “That message would be nice. And being barred a third time would really piss me off. I love being pissed off. And it would get me a good reputation down here.” He stroked his chin. “Fine.” 

 

The sky rumbled again as if to seal the deal. 

 

+ 

 

Later, Ricardo and Cristiano were sitting in Hell’s best palace eating McDonalds. “So, there’s definitely a way back into Heaven?” 

 

Cristiano sighed loudly. “There is. For delivery trucks and stuff. You have no idea how many halos we actually produce down here. Those high quality halos you see Peter and Paul wearing? From down here. And they get all the credit for them. So fucking stupid.” 

 

Ricardo smiled a little nervously at his cussing. “Right. Sorry about that.” 

 

Cristiano shrugged. “I don’t see the sense in being sorry about anything.” 

 

The other man-- Ricky, Cristiano liked “Ricky” much better-- looked confused. He brushed another strand of his curling hair off his forehead. “I don’t understand what you mean. Being sorry has nothing to do with sense. It’s just a feeling you have. An emotion. Guilt exists for a reason. Being sorry is just-- I don’t know, part of life. Don’t you remember when you were human?” 

 

Cristiano looked away quickly, and Ricky thought he was much more handsome when he wasn’t sitting in a pool of lava or telling God to fuck off. He almost looked human again. There was something about demons that, although they were human in shape, didn’t look human at all. It wasn’t even just when their eyes glowed red. It was just the way they held themselves, the way they leered and glared, the way they sniffed the air when a fight broke out. It was like all the humanity had drained out of them, and just a shell of evil and despair was left. 

 

“I remember,” Cristiano answered finally. “Wasn’t that great, to be honest. You know what that shit Achilles said?” 

 

“What, like in a movie?” 

 

“No, not like in a movie movie, shithead,” Cristiano huffed, sarcastically. “The actual Achilles.” 

 

“You knew him?” Ricardo was oblivious to sarcasm. 

 

Cristiano ignored his question. “He said: ‘The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful _because_ we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now, and we will never be here again.’” 

 

Lava splashed in the distance, the blackened trees withered even further, the sky rumbled as someone across the valley flipped off the sky. “That’s beautiful,” Ricky said. “It’s true.” 

 

“It’s not true,” Cristiano snapped sourly. “Bits of life were beautiful. And bits of it were ugly. The fact that it’s over quickly doesn’t make it better or worse, just frantic.” He looked back at Ricky, and his eyes shone red. “Hell isn’t like that. We have an eternity down here to make mistakes and fix them. An eternity beats _one moment_ in time any day.” 

 

“An eternity down here though?” Ricky shook his head. “I don’t know, Cristiano. I think that if you tried being good, maybe you could come to heaven--” 

 

The sky rumbled once more, this time in their direction, loudly and angrily. The message was clear: No fucking way. 

 

Cristiano laughed, but his eyes didn’t flash red, and his lips barely formed a smile. “Fucking winged bastards. As if I would ever want to climb the stairs of doom and end up in that shithole.”  

 

+ 

 

Cristiano said he didn’t want to start the journey until the next day, so he brought Ricardo back his place. It was large and spacious and sometimes the walls caught on fire spontaneously. Apparently it was prime real estate in Hell. 

 

“Nice place,” Ricardo said weakly after his bed caught on fire for the third time. “A little scary.” 

 

“Oh just wait until you get to Heaven. They make you say prayers more than seven fucking times a day. It’s ridiculous. If you think this is scary, wait until you get to that cult up there.” 

 

Ricardo frowned. Heaven was something he had been working towards all his life, and he didn’t appreciate hearing anything bad about it, even from a demon. Even from Cristiano, who he actually was growing to like, though he normally grew to like everyone anyway. 

 

“Hey, Cris,” he asked as the other man wandered around the room, looking for a second blanket, “How do you know so much about Heaven anyway? I thought demons couldn’t go up unless it’s visiting hours? And I thought they had, like, a waiting room for visiting demons? Unless you were in Purgatory before? And you somehow saw Heaven?” Ricky sat up like an eager child. “Is Purgatory real?” 

 

Cristiano turned on him with a wicked smile. “They didn’t even give you the crash course yet?” 

 

He shook his head. “That was what the retreat was meant to be for.” 

 

“Ah, right, and you missed the bus.” Cristiano sat on the end of Ricky’s bed, tossing him the blanket. “Alright, well, yes, Purgatory is real, but that’s just a pit of hopelessness. Too good to wreak havoc? We send you up to Purgatory. If you’re not good enough to pass through Heaven’s gates, they stop you and make you stay in the middle.” 

 

“What do you do there?” Ricky sat with his legs pulled up to his chest, and his hair kept falling back in his eyes. Cristiano would have said he almost looked cute, if he had a heart that is. 

 

“What do you do?” Cristiano repeated incredulously. “Nothing. You just wait until your heart blackens or purifies. But it’s, uh, it’s very sacred to Heaven. They don’t steal souls from there ever because they’re not _clean_ enough or some shit. Royal pricks.” Cristiano shrugged. “Yeah, just nothingness in Purgatory.” 

 

“Oh.” Ricardo shuddered into the comforter he had placed around his shoulders earlier. “Alright. So you didn’t go there?” 

 

“No. I didn’t go there.” 

 

“So how do you know so much about Heaven?” Ricky looked up at him with such adoring, innocent eyes that Cristiano couldn’t even breathe fire at him or compel him with a glance (both very cool tricks of his). 

 

Cristiano looked like he wasn’t going to answer, and then his mouth hardened into a straight line, he straightened his back like a soldier, and he exhaled, quietly and carefully like he was preparing himself for something. “I’ve been.” 

 

Ricardo’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t understand.” 

 

“Okay, Jesus fucking Christ.” The wind banged the door open, and Cristiano cursed again. “Fucking winged eavesdroppers. I’ve been to heaven, alright? Remember the story of Lucifer? You remember what happened to him?” 

 

“Yeah, of course.” He looked eager to prove his knowledge, both to their audience up in heaven and to Cristiano himself. “He didn’t listen to God, and God cast him down from Heaven. He’s a fallen angel. Or. Was. Then he went senile.” 

 

“Yeah.” Cristiano was tight-lipped and tense. “A Fallen Angel.” 

 

Ricky gasped. “That’s what you are?” 

 

Cristiano didn’t say anything. He stood up, looked at Ricky long and hard, and started for the door. 

 

“Wait! Cris!” He stopped, hand on the doorknob. “What did you do? What could possibly get you tossed out of Heaven?” 

 

“I stole something.” 

 

“What did you steal?” 

 

“A soul.” 

 

The door slammed. 

 

+ 

 

The next day, Cristiano woke Ricky up bright and early, and they stopped by the main Palace for Cristiano’s delivery badge. Everything was official and orderly, and Ricky decided the Palace was his favorite part of Hell. Even the Devil was handsome and nice. Ricky could understand why people would do bad things for him. 

 

He smiled at Ricky though, when he handed Cristiano the badge. He was the King of Hell and he was going around smiling at people. Ricky thought the King of Hell was supposed to be mean, but he never counted on becoming friends with a demon either, so. Hell was full of surprises. So was the afterlife in general though. When he died and saw St. Peter for the first time, he was just like, Oh. Shit. 

 

Cristiano said goodbye to the King like he was an old friend, and then they walked down a fiery hallway until they reached a strange, twisted and blackened staircase. “Alright, we just climb for a very long time. We’ll have to go through Purgatory, so just hold on. It’ll only take us a few days if we climb and don’t sleep.” 

 

“What?” Ricky looked horrified. “We have to climb for days?” Cristiano started to step on the staircase. “Are you serious?” 

 

Cristiano looked back at Ricky for a moment, his face completely serious, and then he burst out laughing. “No, I’m just shitting you. We have an elevator. We’re not fucking monsters. That’s just the staircase to the library.” 

 

Ricky breathed a sigh of relief, and let Cristiano lead him to the dark red elevators a few feet over. “The library?” he asked when he got over his relief. 

 

“Yeah, we’ve got every good porno ever created.” He turned to smirk at Ricky. “We send the bad ones to Purgatory.” 

 

“I thought you said Purgatory is a ton of nothingness.” 

 

“Yeah, but, man, they still have porn. I mean, what do you think we are? It’s Purgatory, not _prison._ ” 

 

Ricky shook his head. “Alright then.” 

 

He stepped into the elevator, and Cristiano extended his right hand with the badge. Another panel slid open to reveal the inside of a train with red carpet, red seats, and a red-eyed ticket collector. “Welcome,” he said with a creepy smile. “You’re in for one hell of a ride.” 

 

... 

 

Ricky passed the time by pressing Cristiano for more questions, like an eager child or a dog before a treat. He sat with his hands in his lap, primly and sweetly, and everyone could tell he wasn’t from Hell. Just by the way he sat. Everything about Ricky was good, and Cristiano could barely look at him. The more time they spent together, the more painful his light became. 

 

“So, whose soul did you steal?” 

 

Cristiano’s responses were short and curt, sometimes blunt and hurtful. “My father’s.” 

 

“Why did you steal it?” 

 

“Because I thought Heaven was okay. I missed him.” 

 

“So you risked everything for him?” 

 

“I was good back then.” 

 

“If you had goodness once, don’t you think you can be that way again?” 

 

“I was weak. Goodness is weak.” 

 

“Goodness isn’t weak.” Ricky leaned forward, and he put his hand below Cristiano’s chin. He pressed up lightly to make Cristiano look him in the eye. “I could be bad any minute if I chose. But being good takes so much more effort.” 

 

Cristiano slapped Ricky’s hand away. His cheeks were heating up. “I’m a demon, Ricky. Don’t try to reason with a demon.” 

 

“But you weren’t just in heaven, Cris,” Ricky said, on the verge of whining. “You were an angel--” 

 

“Enough,” Cristiano snapped, eyes flashing a bone-chilling red. “That’s enough. I don’t want to hear another word about heaven. The deal was to take you. That’s it.” 

 

Ricky was silent for a long time, staring out the window, watching hell pass by. After awhile, they stopped traveling horizontally and they began to rise in the sky. Hell was pretty, Ricky realized. Red and black all over, harsh and sharp. Just a different kind of beauty. Heaven was rolling hills and gentle blues. Hell was sharp and terrifying, but it felt real. 

 

Finally, he said, “The message.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“I promised I would give a message to someone in Heaven for you.” 

 

“Oh.” Cristiano’s voice grew quiet. “Just find my mother. Just tell her that I love her.” 

 

Ricky nodded, and they were quiet again. 

 

... 

 

Finally they reached the gate, and the train stopped. Cristiano and Ricky stepped out, and it was a great wide open field, cloudy with a little bit of sun. There were birds and sunshine and plants growing everywhere. Heaven was life and Hell was death. Heaven was an Earth-like paradise, and Hell was Earth flipped upside down and turned inside out and warped, twisted, and burnt to the very core. Ricky watched Cristiano stare at the Paradise around him, and for the first time, he realized that Cristiano belonged where he did. Not because he was bad, but because he was warped and twisted, and his wings had been cut. Because he had Fallen. 

 

“So, I guess this is it?” Ricky looked down at his hands. He extended one. “I know you said no good manners, but we’re not in hell anymore.” 

 

The gate behind him was starting to open. The other passengers, the deliverymen, were staring hungrily at the angels holding the money just behind the doors. “Yeah,” Cristiano answered, watching them. 

 

He stuck out his hand to shake Ricky’s, and they didn’t let go for a long time. 

 

“Come with me?” Ricky tried, weakly, already knowing the answer. He wasn’t sure why he asked. It was just that Cristiano seemed like the first honest person he’d met since dying and he’d met a few hundred souls already at Heaven’s first Orientation before the field trip. He felt like he connected with Cristiano, and he wanted to say that, but he thought Cristiano would just tell him to shut the fuck up. 

 

Cristiano just smiled gently. “No,” he said decisively, “That’s not what this is about. This isn’t about running or leaving anything or changing anything. That’s not why you were sent into my life.” 

 

“Careful,” Ricky teased, “It almost sounds like you believe _someone_ sent me to you. Don’t want to go sounding all religious, now do you?” 

 

He smiled again, that gentle smile. “No, this isn’t about religion or God or Heaven. It’s about you being right, about a _moment._ One moment, one _instance_ , can mean more than an eternity.” 

**Author's Note:**

> here's the au generator in case you want it: http://www.generatorland.com/usergenerator.aspx?id=4827


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